


Paradise Lost - #4 in Series

by KayCee1951



Series: Magnificent Obsession Series [4]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Death and Rebirth, Destiny is a big responsibility, F/M, Story complete, You may cry unless you're Vulcan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:48:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25289332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayCee1951/pseuds/KayCee1951
Summary: She was now the sole keeper of a love that would never be known and would never grow as it could have; alive only in the depths of her mind, the breadth her heart, the height of her soul. He had asked her a question. Now, he would never know what her answer would have been.Next in Series: All the Great Voyagers Return (companion story to Paradise Lost)
Relationships: Christine Chapel/Spock
Series: Magnificent Obsession Series [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1832005
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter One

"‘Tis not love’s going hurts my days,

But that it went in little ways."

 _“The Spring and the Fall”_ by Edna St. Vincent Millay

**Chapter One:**

_**2286** _

With a light cover stretched over her and her shawl around her shoulders, Christine sat in the chaise at the end of the pier. The sunlight had faded behind Mount Tam leaving a vista of perfectly proportioned sky-blue pink on the horizon. She had languished there for more than an hour already. This activity, or lack thereof, was a funeral of sorts – a final goodbye.

Their physical contact would be missed. God! how it would be missed. But it was the loss of the intimacy of ordinary moments for which she mourned.

Having exhausted all the tears weeping over a life that might have been, she was inert, like a mausoleum angel grieving over the crypt of a child. Had that slender, delicate thread snapped and broken the moment he died, she might have grieved less. Somewhere between his dying in the reactor room of Enterprise and his revival on Vulcan, their harmony had simply faded, slowly. No matter how tightly she tried to hold onto it, she felt every second of its slipping away. And then it was gone.

His katra, the sum of all his memories and experience, had been degraded; his memories corrupted, his experiences scattered. 

She was now the sole keeper of a love that would never be known and would never grow as it could have; alive only in the depths of her mind, the breadth of her heart, the height of her soul. 

Before he left that morning, he had asked her a question. Now, he would never know what her answer would have been.

* * *

_**2285 - Four Months earlier…** _

This evening was their first anniversary, or nineteenth, depending on the context. During the past year, she had half convinced herself many times there was a possibility of more. Then her left brain would intervene and rein in those illogical, impractical, and hopeful flights of fancy.

Hope is like a powerful opioid; addictive and dangerous when allowed to fly unrestrained.

As the end of their ‘arrangement’ drew near, so did the end of training for Spock’s senior cadet class. The Kobayashi Maru test was less than a month away and the demands on his time had increased exponentially.

Spock was also mentoring one of the two cadets who had been ‘volunteered’ for her advanced field triage class. Another demand on his time and attention. As if the increased demands on Spock’s time was not sufficient to waylay plans, their individual schedules did not align on a regular basis. 

The demands on her time now included a contribution to the design of the emergency care unit on Excelsior as well as preparation for her departure to the frontier. That intent had not changed. Field medicine had become a passion that surpassed even her need for proximity to Spock. In less than five months, she would be back aboard the Ruby G. Bradley, this time as Head of Field Medicine and Critical Care. She would be on the front lines where she was needed – where she needed to be.

When it was over, she would put the memories symbolically into the trinket box he had given her and walk away, again. Anything after that was up to the Universe.

~~~~~*~~~~~

Spock arrived at the bungalow precisely at 7:30 p.m. Designs for the Excelsior medical department were still on the viewscreen on her desk. Scattered around it were performance reviews, which Christine preferred, illogically and impractically, to handwrite. Handwritten letters were a preference of his mother’s. Also illogical and impractical. 

Looking through the kitchen window, he found her lounging in the chaise at the end of the pier, exactly where he knew she would be. Although he had taught her deeper forms of meditation in a more controlled environment, she preferred basking in the quiet solitude of that spot to any other. She would soon come inside for tea when she was ready. Habit and custom are the hallmarks of a comfortable relationship. Theirs, it appeared was no different.

Generally, their relationship had settled more into a communion of spirit than anything that could ever be described as traditional by either Human of Vulcan standards. Although most of the custom into which they had settled was of a more formal, less physical nature, he had, on occasion, tried to distract her from mundane activity, with the intent of engaging her in a more interesting activity, by playing with a strand of her hair or stroking her earlobe. She tested the extent to which he would relinquish propriety by ambushing him with a kiss at the most unexpected moments.

When Christine came into the living room, the tea had been prepared and a glass of Scotch was ready for her.

 _“Shit,”_ she thought.

“Why am I going to need the Scotch?” Ripping off the band-aid is always psychologically, if not physically, better than removing it slowly.

“Perhaps you should sit,” he said.

~~~~~*~~~~~

The living room was low lit and the subtle aroma of slow cooking Plomeek had completely filled the bungalow.

When she had cautiously settled herself into the chair next to the fireplace, he handed her the drink. They sat without speaking for some time, allowing her to mentally and emotionally prepare herself. 

For Christine, the bungalow had become an _enchanted cottage_. She had coveted and jealously guarded, the reclusion. Within these walls, he did not belong to the galaxy at large. She had indulged herself in every touch, in every breath on her skin, in every whispered word. 

She had always known it would end, eventually. They could not retreat from the world outside forever. If this halcyon dream was to end now, perhaps it was for the best. She was not at all confident that she was going to handle it well now, or five months from now, in any case. If hope is the opioid, self-indulgence is the overdose. In spite of her own logic and better judgment, she had allowed herself a large helping of both.

She closed her eyes. The only sound she could hear was her own breathing and her own inner voice. She opened her eyes and put the unconsumed liquid fortification aside to meet it stone-cold sober.

“If you wait much longer to answer,” she said, “I’ll just cry in my soup.”

“It was not my intention to cause you distress.” 

“Any distress I feel is my own fault, not yours,” she assured him. 

“Perhaps.”

“There is no ‘perhaps’ about it. You _are_ who you are. How I feel about you is a consequence that is outside your control. And please, please, do _not_ say you’re sorry.”

“As you wish,” he said.

“I wish.” She took a measured breath, let it out slowly, and asked, “Are you trying to tell me goodbye?”

“Forgive me for my ignorance in these matters,” he said, the astonishment evident on his face. “My intention is quite the opposite.”

Reaching out, he laid his hands in her lap to receive hers. She felt the heat of his touch radiate up her arms. His head was bent over their clasped hands and he massaged her fingers with a tenderness that she found almost unbearable. 

He could feel that her pulse had become rapid and there was a trembling in her hands that likely only he would be able to detect. He raised his gaze to look into her eyes.

“Christine.” He said her name with the same reverence she had mistaken for urgency when he had knelt before her on that very spot a year ago. “In the past months, I have come to understand that I do not wish to be parted from you.”

While her emotions were running amok, her mind was processing a revelation she had not considered possible or had been afraid to entertain.

“I…” Her voice faltered and she had to swallow hard to speak. “I will be leaving for the frontier in a few months.”

“I am acutely aware of that. The current synergy we have will not be enough. It requires proximity. If you release me from the pledge I made to you and allow a bond, we would be parted only by distance.”

By the time he said the word, she needed more air than the space had available. Her hands were still within his as if he was holding her in place.

“Correct me if I am wrong,” she said, her voice thready, "but isn’t a bond usually part of a marriage ritual?”

“It is not the only application. However, marriage is customary. Either would be permanent.”

He felt her stiffen.

“I want you to be my wife. That is why I ask you now to release me. It will take time to prepare and, of necessity, acknowledgment of our relationship to others.”

“Why? You do not have to take a wife, ever. And why me? Other than the fact that we both love you, I am nothing like Amanda. I would make a terrible wife for a Vulcan.”

“You are correct. You _are_ ill-suited to be the wife of _any other_ Vulcan. You have no reservations about challenging me in public. You can be sharp-tongued and sarcastic. You are also illogically sentimental, moody, and smile with little provocation. Shall I go on?”

“No, thank you. I think that is quite enough.”

She had pulled her hands from his and was now standing at the kitchen window watching the moonlight dance on the channel. He followed her into the room and stood close behind her.

“You also have an exceedingly inquiring and analytical mind. Your sharp tongue and sarcasm are often well deserved. You have dedicated your life to healing. You are a loyal friend and a valued comrade. And I know that your desire to return to the frontier, where you _are_ needed, is a moral imperative.”

Halfway through the last part, she had turned to him and allowed him to pull her into an embrace. Before he kissed her, she whispered, “That’s a lot of words to say ‘ _I love you_.’”


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two:**

_**2285** _

She stood in the shadows on the edge of a precipice, staring not into the abyss below but at the bridge that traversed it. A tissue white tunica drifted from her shoulders and puddled around her ankles, seeping into the cracks in the stone. The wind swirled around her. The path backward, to where her journey had begun, was a minefield of firethorn. She bore the scars to attest to their sharpness. A bell tolled in the tower that rose out of the thicket behind her. Across the bridge, the land was shimmery, fluctuating from solid to gaseous form - impossible to coalesce into form. The stone under her feet began to crumble and fall by bits into the chasm below. She would have to make her choice soon: retreat and seek the security of the danger she knew or run headlong toward the thing that terrified her most…

~~~~~*~~~~~

The dream had just been a manifestation of the doubts that still plagued her. Why did he want her to be his wife? If it had been a decision of whether or not to make their connection permanent with a bond, the choice would have been simple. That was not the primary reason she had elicited his vow. She placed a premium on the anonymity and relative safety of the shadows. 

It was not being the wife of a Vulcan that terrified her, but being the wife of Spock. She had lived in a fishbowl and was not in a rush to return to it. He had countered with the one person to whom he knew she would not want to be compared. 

“T’Pring chose mortal combat and Stonn because she did not wish to become the consort of a legend.”

 _When Spock really put his mind to it, he could fight dirty._ She attributed that to overexposure to Leonard McCoy.

“And I completely understand her dilemma. It was her method of resolving it that was reprehensible – regardless of whether or not it fits the criteria of logic.”

They had argued the logic of his proposal ad nauseam. It disturbed her that her reluctance to become his wife might not be due to the time she required to weigh the pros and cons, but because she was a coward. She had admitted as much to him. In spite of his assurances that he would not have asked her if he thought she was not up to the task, her greatest fear was that she would fail him.

The day of the Kobayashi Maru test was the first time he had stayed with her until morning and the last time they had been together before the Enterprise departed for the graduate cadet training cruise. She had still refused to give him her answer until after he returned.

~~~~~*~~~~~

When the Enterprise had been out one week, her day had started out like most others at Starfleet Command. Christine’s cadet classes and contributions to Excelsior’s design had been completed. Her only remaining duty was to Emergency Operations, preparations for separation from Starfleet Command, and, if she accepted his proposal, wedding preparations.

Returning from a meeting with Admiral Nagoya’s adjutant, she found Commander Janice Rand standing outside her office. The gravity in Janice’s expression stopped Christine in her tracks. She recalled whispered scuttlebutt, usually disregarded, heard this morning before going into her meeting. She tried to conjure up a scenario where Janice, unannounced and with no logical reason for waiting outside her office, would be a good thing, or even something ordinary, mundane, nothing of consequence.

But she knew…she knew.

She knew that Janice was the telegram, the phone call, the unofficial uniformed notification officer…

~~~~~*~~~~~

By the time Janice had followed her into the office, the official announcement was being received at workstations throughout Starfleet headquarters.

“I’m so sorry, Christine. I wanted to give you more warning. I know that you had…feelings for him.”

It would not be until the Enterprise returned to space dock that she was able to properly thank Janice for her kindness. She had done that and then left before any of the crew disembarked, returning to her office, returning to work as usual.

When you are first told that the person you love most in the universe, the other half of your soul and essence, the person that you cherish as much as life itself has died, numbness sets in and automatic function assumes command. Our minds cannot, unprepared, process the unimaginable, the unthinkable. You tidy drawers, make dinner, organize the pantry – anything routine – anything to stay the tide of reality that will surely carry you, like a rip current, beyond your limit of endurance.

Scotty had lost his nephew. Peter and Spock would not be the last of their losses. Before it was over, Jim would reclaim a friend but lose his son in the process. Whatever grief she suffered paled by comparison. Spock was different but alive. 


	3. Chapter Three

_**2286** _

These were the thoughts that consumed her as she lay in the chaise at the end of the pier. He would never know her answer because she still did not know what it would have been.

And Spock had been wrong about their connection requiring proximity. Apparently it did not. The more she thought about their harmony, which Spock referred to as synergy, the more she understood it. Odd how the void that comes with a loss can provide clarity – sorting of the wheat from the chaff.

Having survived nine years of separation, it simply could not survive an extended time, as delicate as it was, in McCoy’s charge. It had just withered away and the memories of what they were, together, had withered with it. Not Leonard’s fault. He had no idea what he was carrying. No one could have. Perhaps Spock, in those microseconds he had to decide, thought that transferring his memories of their time together to the doctor would have violated his pledge to her. 

_It would be typical of him to be that calculating and precise in even the direst, and urgent, of circumstances._ She would likely never know.

*Spock’s unexpected appearance in the corridor outside the operating theatre in the wee hours of the morning had nearly wrested every ounce of strength from her and raised her hopes. He had saved some sliver of a memory of her but, in the end, she knew it was never going to be enough. A few fractured memories may have survived, but the context was gone.

The others had all given him their memories for context and, yet, he was still struggling. She was not going to wait around for him to ask for hers. She could not settle for half, or a reconstruction, from only her perspective. 

More importantly, he had a destiny to fulfill. She would only get in the way. She was, once again, taking herself out of the equation.

~~~~~*~~~~~

While the crew of the Enterprise-A were getting the first look at their new ship, Christine Chapel was boarding a transport that would take her to Starbase 12 and the Ruby G. Bradley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The story of their brief encounter outside the operating theatre, after the crew of "The Bounty" had saved Earth from disaster, is told in a separate, side story titled All the Great Voyagers Return.


End file.
